


all i want for Christmas is Potter

by welpslytherin



Series: Draco Malfoy and the Charmed Mistletoe [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogsmeade, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Mistletoe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:42:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21916192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/welpslytherin/pseuds/welpslytherin
Summary: In which Draco Malfoy charms a mistletoe so that he could kiss Harry Potter. A Hogsmeade date, a snowball fight, and some gift exchanging ensue.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley
Series: Draco Malfoy and the Charmed Mistletoe [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1621477
Comments: 25
Kudos: 262
Collections: A Very Drarry Secret Santa 2019





	all i want for Christmas is Potter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RamaThorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RamaThorn/gifts).



> Hello there! This is a fic written for our Discord bookclub's Christmas-Drarry-themed Secret Santa. Kudos to [triggerlil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/triggerlil) for moderating it, she did such a wonderful job. I couldn’t ask for a better Santa.
> 
> Annnd this one is for [RamaThorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RamaThorn)! Rama, you're such an amazing person with so much talent. You are so good at what you do and your artwork is absolutely gorgeous. It has been so fun writing for you. I hope this is close to what you were looking for and is not too long or out-of-theme. I really hope you enjoy it!
> 
> I hope everyone likes it as well! Merry Christmas and happy reading x

This plan was brilliant, Draco thought smugly. No, this plan was fucking _magnificent_.

Looking up at his masterpiece, he felt the same sort of pride he had had when he managed to fix the Vanishing cabinet in sixth year, but instead of the dread and anxiety that had crippled him then, he felt a strange sense of excitement and fervour.

The enchanted mistletoe hung laxly from the threshold of the Room of Requirement, the very place where all the eighth-years would be bustling with merry commotion for their Christmas party in just a few hours.

It had all been Granger's idea to throw a party to celebrate an early Christmas right before the holidays. The notion had been unanimously agreed upon, with everyone spouting out various ideas for convivial activities as they espoused Granger's ideals about moving pass former animosities and festive gift exchanging, but Draco suspected the majority of them were driven mostly by the excuse to have Firewhiskey down their throats.

Granger hadn't required encouragement to begin preparations after that and had immediately started listing the tasks that needed to be fulfilled in order for the party to be well set by the twenty-third of December. Draco could admit he felt relatively annoyed by being bossed around by _Granger_ , no less, but he could also admit that he was quite impressed. He waited for the usual disdain toward the Muggle-born to come, but it didn't. The war, and all it entailed, was truly horrible, and Draco was tremendously thankful it was over. Sure, he had put down everyone who was either a Muggle-born or an opposer of pureblood supremacist ideals, having been raised and indoctrinated by ignorant racists. And sure, he was a former Death Eater. He bore the dark ophidian tattoo on his left arm that acted as a stark reminder of all the wrong choices he had been forced to make.

The only right ones, however, were to come back to Hogwarts and to ultimately shed the skin of the old Draco Malfoy, who was a bully and a Death Eater and someone who was too much of a coward to make his own decisions. The old Draco Malfoy, in his opinion, was as good as dead.

There were a number of things he despised about his said former self. The expensive hair gel, for example, the one he had consistently applied to his blond locks throughout his upbringing. The glassy circular container with the horrid ointment that Lucius Malfoy insisted Draco tortured his hair with has been abandoned, left behind at the manor and disremembered. Draco had always hated the sticky rigid feeling, and was now more than glad he was able to freely card his fingers through soft luscious strands.

But he found there were also some things about the old Draco Malfoy that he couldn't quite let go of. Old habits die hard, as they say. For instance, he still had a bit of a sweet tooth. So he made sure to visit Hogsmeade and treat himself to a generous amount of candy from Honeydukes every week, for he no longer had the luxury of having them Owled to him during breakfast. _Another_ thing Draco found himself less than willing (or unable) to cast aside was his feelings for Harry Potter. He loved him. Had done all his life, from that first meeting with the scrawny, black-haired boy in Madam Malkin's. That love got twisted up with other things, of course. In denial. In jealousy. In enmity. In heartbreak. After the war was over, all the hatred and rivalry faded and, in its place, formed a rather simple kind of love. Unrequited, of course. 

This love thrived, much against Draco’s will, under Potter’s and his new relationship, which was one of close-to-civilised discourse and amicable silences. It didn't affect his daily routine much. For Draco, it was rather like having a condition, a chronic aching that he had learned to work around and live with.

But when opportunity presented itself right onto Draco's lap, who was he to resist?

When Draco had offered to take up the duty of decorations for the party, he had to resist the urge to smirk at the look on Granger's face that had been overcome with shock at the fact that Draco _Malfoy_ of all people was the first to volunteer.

"What?" He had said, raising a pale brow. "I concur with what you've said, and I want to help."

"Oh...okay," had been Granger's irresolute agreement. Fortunately for Draco, she was none the wiser and unsuspecting of his rather Slytherin reason for why he had _really_ volunteered. 

It had been because he would be getting to kiss Potter, no less.

It went like this.

The brilliantly charmed and rather lavish mistletoe (that he had requested be Owled from the Manor, because he definitely wasn't going to use the pathetic excuses of mistletoes on Hogwarts' grounds) would confine the first two people who stood under it, releasing them only until they kissed for an appropriate amount of time to be considered a proper kiss.

It was a devious action to take, but really it wasn't Draco's fault. It _wasn't_.

No, it was _Potter's_ fault for being entirely too edible. He had filled out rather well over the summer, all hard edges and sinewy frame. His hair was the usual atrocity. Dark messy locks that Draco just wanted to sink his nose and tangle his fingers into.

After finishing up the relevant charms on the verdant plant, Draco allowed himself a complacent smile, satisfied in his efforts and fairly certain that this was going to work out beautifully. He was going to kiss Potter!

Now, all that was left to do was to get the tosser here. Under the mistletoe. With him. So that he can finally snog the hell out of him.

Feeling giddy and downright exuberant, he rushed down to the Quidditch pitch, where Potter would be wrapping up his practice. He'd catch him after he'd taken a shower, Draco considered. He didn't trust himself to be around the git while he was swathed in sweat, that salty tang practically wafting off of him in _waves_.

Draco found an alcove near the changing rooms and waited, heart jumping around animatedly in his chest. He fidgeted with his hair, tucking it back and then letting some of his fringe tumble forward again. A few minutes passed in silence, save for the occasional bout of laughter from a cluster of third years or the customary prattle from the passing Gryffindor first years who had come to watch the practice. They all eyed him warily, to which Draco opted to ignore, rather than irritatedly ask what they were looking at or bark at them to move along like his old self would.

Draco shifted his weight from foot to the other, feeling unusually restless in opposition to his prior excitement. Trust Potter to always manage to poke a hole in Draco's perfect calm composure. He always found a way to get under his skin, riling him up even when even when he forced himself to stay collected, and arousing the most unexpected reactions out of him, no pun intended. Even before the war, when everything Draco could possibly need was spoon-fed to him on a silver platter, courtesy to the prestige of the Malfoy name, Potter drove him to the brink of sanity, a walking reminder that Draco could never have the one thing he _wanted_.

The acceptance of an offer of friendship, seven years ago on a steaming age-old train. The possibility of something more.

The knowledge that he was finally going to obtain his heart's desire thrilled him to the bone.

He was finally going to get to kiss him, albeit for only a minute, more or less. That is, if his flawless plan that he spent _days_ tweaking and worrying over worked. Which it will.

Draco blew out a shaky breath, fingertips tingling with anticipation. _Any minute now..._

Sure enough, the indistinguishable loud chatter of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, Potter amongst them no doubt, resonated from the locker rooms, getting louder by the second. Draco's heart rate spiked when he heard Potter's irrefutable melody of a laughter echo down the hall, right after someone Draco reckoned was either Weasley or Thomas voiced some inappropriate joke about broomsticks and groins.

When they rounded the corner, Draco did his best to look like he had been just strolling past, really casual, nothing too—

"Oh, hi Draco! Whatever are you doing here lurking around like a Grubbyhobble? Are you waiting for Harry?"

Draco practically jumped six feet in the air, frightened because apparently, he had just been abruptly waylaid by one Luna Lovegood who had a ridiculously large triangle-shaped red hat perched on top of her head and had for some reason decided to attract entirely too much attention with her annoyingly loud declaration.

"Fuck, Luna!" He couldn't help but yelp inelegantly.

All heads turned to him but Thomas was the first to speak, "I think that part's already covered by Ginny."

"Oi!" Weasley exclaimed, horrified. "No mentioning my sister's sex life, you fucking tosser."

Potter let out an amused snicker that nearly drew Draco in. He stared at the Boy Wonder, cheeks flushed from his recent shower and hair still attractively damp. Then he caught him looking and flashed him a small smile that had Draco blushing like a schoolgirl.

Sweet Circe, when had things gone so terribly wrong? He had only been so confident a few moments ago. This revelation reminded him of the whole reason he had been down here in the first place.

"I wasn't _lurking_ —" he started, but Luna just batted her pale lashes at him all innocent-like, in contrast to the knowing look she provided with her eyes. Draco grumbled.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy? Need something?" Ritchie Coote, whom Draco recognised as Gryffindor's beater, asked. The rest of the team mimicked his questioning look.

Draco scowled, displeased with all the attention he was getting. He only wanted to grab Potter from the group, giving some excuse that he wanted to talk to him and then luring him to the small enchanted spot under the mistletoe. Unnoticed by the whole bloody Gryffindor house if possible.

Not _this_.

"I just need a word with Potter," Draco mumbled, giving a pointed look at his cousin, who still sported a much too bright smile.

Potter raised his dark eyebrows, seemingly surprised, before looking back at his teammates. And then, as eloquent as ever, "Er—I got it from here, guys. I'll catch up later."

A good number of the scarlet robed jocks continued down the hall, either nodding or shrugging to Potter's remark, retreating to their respective dormitories.

But of fucking _course_ , Weasley had to sneak one last glare at Draco before leaning marginally into Potter, in what he thought was a whisper, "If you need me to string along..."

"I can take care of myself, Ron." Potter smiled, patting his friend's shoulder with an easy closeness that made Draco's skin boil.

"If you think I'd be stupid enough to murder the Saviour of the Wizarding World in _Hogwarts_ , Weasley, you're even dafter than I thought," Draco couldn't help but jab. Not that he wouldn't murder him anywhere else, but he wasn't going to admit that.

"Shut up, Malfoy," he spat, before giving Potter another look that told him to be careful and stalking off. Draco scoffed, and then disguised it as a cough. Ever since he had returned for eighth year, he had attempted to patch things up with everyone. But he had found that Weasley was one of the hardest of them to reconcile with.

"Alright. I'll see you two at the party then," chirped Lovegood. Then she scampered off, leaving a vanilla whiff in her wake.

Potter turned at Draco then, with an odd look in his eyes that made Draco squirm and the colour in his cheeks darken several shades.

"What is it?" Potter asked, in a tone that was a notch lower than his normal voice. Draco swallowed.

Damn Potter and his ability to make Draco breathless. Now was _not_ the time.

"I just...I need some help with the decorations," he croaked and then gestured towards the ceiling. "Do you mind accompanying me to the Room of Requirement? Only if you're available, of course."

Potter looked confused for a second and then recovered. "Sure."

The two of them walked together to the seventh floor, with Potter trailing just a few inches behind Draco.

Draco's heart banged about in his chest as if trying to break its way out. He could feel the warmth emanating from Potter, the fresh soapy smell from his shower pervading Draco's senses and leaving him more than a bit dizzy.

They walked up to the stairs and positioned themselves in front of the wall where the door was supposed to appear. Draco shut his eyes, only opening them after he was sure the door had manifested. When the familiar mistletoe appeared as well, Draco swallowed and tried to keep himself from running away and hiding under a rock for all of eternity.

"Just...in here," he said instead, motioning inside. Potter nodded.

_Any moment now..._

They walked towards the door and Draco swore his heart was about to burst.

Potter stepped under the mistletoe.

Draco held his breath.

He followed.

And then...

 _Whoosh_.

"What the fuck?"

Yes! It worked! Bloody buggering fuck, it actually fucking worked!

Draco felt like he was about to burst with happiness. _Yes yes yes yes yes! I'm going to kiss Potter!_

"Looks like we've just been victimised," Draco drawled, unable to contain the smirk that took place as he did. The look on Potter's face nearly did Draco in. It was the most _adorable_ fucking _confused_ —

"What the fuck just happened, Malfoy?" He demanded, eyes widening into panic and confusion. The confining charm had clearly worked and the both of them were now unable to move out of the limited space under the mistletoe. Suddenly, it felt several degrees warmer and Draco's tie too snug around his neck.

"Are you daft, Potter?" He reveled in the moment, savouring every word and drinking in everything that was Potter Potter Potter. And then, the enchanted words, barely above a whisper, "We have to kiss."

" _What_?" Potter exclaimed, right on cue, his dark brows climbing under his fringe and his jaw dropping. He looked up at the mistletoe and then back at Draco, riddled with shock. His green eyes swirled with hesitation and something like...anticipation. It made Draco's heart soar.

"Yes..." Draco murmured, and leaned in. _Sweet Salazar, this was finally happening._ He had an inch or so on the Gryffindor which allowed him to dip his head marginally, before tilting—

Potter stepped back.

And everything was lost.

"Hey...it's gone." Potter spread his arms and backed up even more. And Draco felt his heart jump and call out for him because _no no no no no! This wasn't supposed to happen!_ Draco's mind began to clutter with panicked thoughts. _What the fuck is happening?_

"What..." Draco sputtered, looking up at his mistletoe then back at the smiling dark-haired boy, perforated with heartbreak and confusion. What the actual fuck?

Potter looked up at the mistletoe and then at Draco, his eyes crinkling with confusion at Draco's reaction.

As for Draco, he looked up and down agitatedly, unbelieving of the terrible events that had just unfolded. "What?" He said again, his brain still trying to catch up to his thumping heart.

"So, er—" He heard Potter say, but he was only half listening. The sound of his heart shattering was still too loud, echoing and reverberating in his skull. "—help with something?"

"This wasn't supposed to happen," Draco said, mostly to himself, through gritted teeth. He felt tears springing up to his eyes. His _one_ chance at getting what he'd wanted for almost all of his life. And he fucked it all up.

"Malfoy, what..." He heard shoes scuff on the floor as Potter stepped toward him.

He was saying something but Draco wasn't listening anymore.

With a lump in his throat, Draco turned on his heel, and ran.

❆

What the bloody fuck just happened?

Harry stood in the hallway of the seventh floor completely alone, save for the luxuriant mistletoe that was still dangling on the threshold of the Room of Requirement. The same mistletoe that had confined him and Malfoy together, to fulfill a kiss, according to Malfoy, and then just released him before they even had a chance to make sure the purpose was achieved.

A strange feeling settled in his chest and Harry was struck with astonishment when he identified it as disappointment. He blinked. No, he couldn't possibly _want_ to...

Harry shook the thought away. That couldn't be right. He wasn't even attracted to boys...was he?

Never mind that he broke up with Ginny because he didn't feel the chemistry between them anymore and doubted its existence in the first place, or that he had never experienced the so-called "butterflies" in his stomach when he had been "crushing" on Cho.

Those reactions were entirely circumstantial. Right?

He allowed himself to think about Malfoy; his white blond hair that had always been slicked back when they were younger, was now longer and free, blond fringe falling loosely in front of his face; his stormy grey eyes, molten as quicksilver; his pale (so pale) skin that practically shone in the sunlight when he sat at his usual spot on the windowsill in the library; his pink pliant lips that looked every inch kissable...

 _Oh_.

Harry coloured as realisation dawned on him. Holy fuck...

"Harry! What are you doing here?"

Hermione's swath of curls poked through before her heavily jacketed figure hurried over to where he was standing. Her cheeks were flushed red from the skin-prickling cold that had been brought upon by the Scotland winter and her gloved hands were carrying bags filled to the brim with red, green, blue, and yellow baubles.

"Er—" Harry bristled, still trying to recover from his most recent discovery about his sexuality as he took in his best friend's disheveled state. "I was just—here, let me help with..."

He reached for both of the paper bags but Hermione stopped him. "That's alright, Harry. I cast a Weightless charm. Do you mind just opening the door for me?"

"Oh, er, sure." Harry's brain caught up with him. "Wait!"

"What?"

"The mistletoe."

Hermione looked confused, then looked up at the verdant plant hanging from the threshold. "What about it?"

"It's charmed," he explained. "I think."

"What do you mean?"

"Malfoy brought me here. He said he needed help with decorations. But when we stepped under the mistletoe, it kind of bound us together? I dunno, but my legs felt stuck there all of the sudden and then he said we needed to kiss..."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Malfoy said that?"

Harry nodded, and then blushed at the memory. "Yeah, but then the charm just...wore off."

"Wore off? What do you mean?"

"I dunno! One moment my legs were stuck there, and the next I could move them again."

"And you didn't kiss him?"

Harry felt the heat creeping up his neck again and he ducked his head. "No."

"Huh." Hermione's forehead creased as she pulled her thinking face. "That's not uncommon. The charm could've been cast carelessly or by someone who didn't know what they were doing. Or... it could have also been the opposite. The charm could've been really strong, but someone had already experienced it before you. But since it had been resilient, it had enough magic in it to attempt it another time. Which, in your case, was on you and Malfoy."

Harry blinked. That...actually made sense. However, it just raised a whole other barrage of questions.

"But who cast the charm? _Why_?"

Hermione tilted her head, her brown eyes suddenly sparkling with amusement. "No idea. But you didn't have to kiss him, did you? Aren't you relieved?"

"Well, yeah..." Harry swallowed. "Yeah, you're right. Let's just..."

Carefully, he levitated the mistletoe from the threshold, dislodging it from its handle, and placed it on the floor of the castle. He should Vanish it, but he wanted to inspect it later.

Then when he followed Hermione in, he was almost left breathless by the decorations that had already been assembled for the party. The walls were painted anew and were flickering with a thousand different coloured lights. There was a fire at the side, warm and inviting in its hearth, with a cluster of sofas and armchairs around it to relax in. When he looked up, he was awed to see the ceiling charmed to imitate a starry sky with snowflakes with various intricate designs and patterns trickling down and dissolving whenever they made contact with something solid. But the thing that stood out the most was the giant Christmas tree in the middle of the room. It must have been at least seven feet tall, towering over them both and glistening with its lush verdant leaves. 

"Wow," Harry said, amazed.

"Well, what do you know? Malfoy actually did a pretty good job," Hermione said, but she didn't seem surprised, only feigning it on Harry's behalf.

" _Malfoy_ did this?" He was stunned, but then felt guilty about it. He had always known the Slytherin was clever, he just hadn't imagined him to be so...imaginative.

Hermione nodded. "I was dubious at first when he told me he wanted to be the only one in charge of decorations but now it seems he had it all under control."

"It's brilliant." Harry gaped at the ceiling that reminded him of the Great Hall.

"Right?" Hermione followed his gaze up to the twinkling sky. "He actually came to me for help for that."

"He did?"

She hummed in confirmation. "He wanted to know what the combination was to charm the sky to produce the snow and to have them disintegrate without setting off a vapour," Hermione said as though it was the most normal thing in the world for Malfoy to ask her for help with something. Or to ask _anyone_ for help for that matter.

"And you told him?" Harry asked, unable to help himself.

"Of course I did. It's quite simple, really, once you understand the sequential importance of charms like those." Then she looked like she was going to launch into another research-filled information lecture.

Hastily, Harry asked, "Do you need help with those?" He pointed to the shining baubles in her bags. Hermione blinked and then smiled, nodding.

"Malfoy said he'd help but I guess he has other things to attend to." She shrugged. "We just have to hang all of these up on the tree."

"Oh. Sure." Harry hurried to assist his friend. The two of them started levitating the baubles in a comfortable silence, hanging them up on the large tree.

Harry let himself be lost in thoughts of Malfoy again, his heart beginning to speed up when the events prior to his run-in with Hermione replayed in his mind.

Many things came to the forefront. The first, and the thing with glaring detail, was the proximity between him and Malfoy, and how much it had affected Harry. A _lot_ apparently, seeing that it had even caused him to question his sexuality.

Second, Malfoy's lips. The perfect dip of the Cupid's bow, their pillowy softness, and their light pink colour. How they looked like they would just melt against Harry's own mouth. He swallowed at his own thoughts on the matter.

Third, the sensual feeling that had circulated in his abdomen when he felt Malfoy's hot breath on his face, the feeling that was beginning to stir up again when he reran the scene in his head. _Sweet fucking Merlin_.

Would Malfoy actually kiss him?

No, he wouldn't. Of _course_ he wouldn't. He _despised_ Harry.

Never mind that the two of them had somehow wordlessly buried the hatchet ever since Malfoy's trials and had been quite civilised to each other so far. Never mind that Harry had been starting to enjoy Malfoy's new self and had even been considering being friends with him.

There was still absolutely no way...

But hadn't he been leaning toward him? And his eyelids were so low...

Oh God.

He was actually going to kiss Harry.

And he didn't even look disgusted or...revolted by the notion. What if he _wanted_ to...?

Harry shook his head.

Needing to kiss someone in order to relieve each other of a mistletoe curse and _wanting_ to kiss them were two very different things.

This was _Malfoy_ , for Merlin's sake. The very same boy who couldn't stand the sight of Harry before the war. The very boy who pounced at every chance to torment him or any of friends. He couldn't possibly want to kiss Harry.

 _He's also the boy who saved your life_ , his subconscious added, doing a service to Harry's irritation.

"You alright, Harry?" Hermione's soft voice lulled him out of his stupor.

Harry blinked, then murmured, "I'm fine."

"Is it Malfoy?"

Harry looked up at his friend, who was now gazing at him with knowing eyes. Of _course_ Hermione would see right through him. She always had. Nothing dubious went on about Hogwarts without Hermione Granger noticing it.

"I—yeah," Harry sighed. There was no point in denying it. Malfoy had always been hard to dismiss to Harry, and it seemed like his best friend was already privy to his thoughts.

"What's on your mind?"

Harry swallowed, ambivalent in his answer. "I was just wondering about the mistletoe."

Hermione nodded, as though she had expected this. "You think he'd set it up so he could kiss you?"

"Yeah, I—wait _what_?" Harry's jaw dropped, and his spine tingled with shock and something like a woozy exultation.

She raised her eyebrows and continued levitating another handful of baubles onto the tree. "Oh don't act so surprised, Harry. It's hardly implausible that he fancies you, what with all the ogling he does at you every day."

"No! What?" Harry shook his head in disbelief, his cheeks already beginning to heat up with embarrassment and his concentration on the task at hand faltering. "He doesn't _ogle_ me."

Hermione rolled her eyes, as if that piece of information was something Harry should have learned since first year. Which, in hindsight, probably was.

"I see the way he looks at you, Harry," she replied, softly, and then turned to look at him fully. "And I see the way you look at him."

Harry coloured, thinking back to when he had been obsessed with Malfoy in their sixth year, and how much he had worried for the blond after war, during his trials, and throughout the start of the term. He'd recognised those feelings, but he hadn't dared to venture beyond to the possibility of something else. But now, he could see them clearly, like putting on his glasses after having lost them for a long time.

"You...You knew?" He whispered. He had lowered his wand, too overwhelmed by the realisation to continue ornamenting the tree.

Hermione postponed her task as well, walking toward him and putting a hand on his shoulder. She rubbed it softly, comforting him in a way only she could. "I...I wasn't sure, but I had an idea, yes."

Harry hung his head dejectedly and covered it with his hands, the butt of his hand pressing against his cheek while the rest of it balanced against his fingers. "But what will Ron think? What will _anyone_ think?"

"Harry...Ron would definitely not be pleased but he will get used to it. I promise. It will take time but I'm here for you. Sure, Malfoy can be a bit of a git sometimes but we've all noticed how much he has changed this year. How much he's making an effort to be better. And if he makes you happy, I'll support you and whatever decision you make, okay? Just promise me, you'll put your happiness first."

Harry looked up to see his best friend's brown eyes shimmering with warmth and understanding and he felt like he could burst from his love for her. "Thank you, 'Mione. Really," he choked, swallowing the lump in his throat.

She smiled and pulled him into a hug. "What are friends for?"

❆

Blinking back hot tears, Draco stumbled around the corner into a dimly lit hallway, running as far as he can from Potter, The-Boy-Who-Had-Somehow-Broke-His-Charms.

It was dark and vacant in the hallway, that if Draco hadn't caught his foot in one of their robes, he wouldn't have seen them at all. He staggered onto the ground, scraping his palms and trouser-ed knees. _Shit_.

"What the bloody— _Nott_?" Draco gasped, slack jawed. The dark-haired Slytherin turned around to look at Draco, who was half-sprawled on the floor, halting his apparent snogging session with—

" _Parkinson_?" Draco practically shrieked. "What the fuck...?"

Several things clicked into place.

The mistletoe. His charms. The reason they hadn't worked was because...

"You two!" Draco snarled. He was up on his feet within a nanosecond, ready to pounce on Nott and pummel his face in for using up his charms that he had spent _nights_ perfecting. "You...you ruined everything!"

Pansy rushed to Draco, her short hair disheveled and her cheeks still flushed with the momentum of a snog. _His and Potter's snog,_ he thought, his chest filling up with a blazing rage that could rival the Fiendfyre. "What the fuck is going on?" She sputtered, her catlike eyes narrowing in confusion.

Draco shrugged her off vehemently. "You two ruined _everything_! _That's_ what's going on!"

"Malfoy, what the fuck?" Nott rasped, his eyes searching Draco's. They knew nothing about what had just happened and the fact that he couldn't talk to either of them about any of it made his skin crawl with something ugly.

"Nothing! Fucking nothing!" His voice cracked at the end and then suddenly, he couldn't stand it anymore. For the second time that day, Draco stomped away, the anger in his chest dissipating to pulse with a fierce heartache.

He went back to his dormitory, not caring that he still had to help Granger put up the Christmas ornaments on the tree. The tree that he had hauled in from the Manor garden along with the fucking mistletoe. He flopped onto his bed, burying his face into his pillow. He sobbed, his back shaking and the tears seeping into the fabric of the pillow.

Why was he surprised?

This wasn’t anything new.

When it came to Potter, he had never once gotten things the way he wanted.

Still, his heart _ached_ with a fresh wave of want and despair. It rippled down his body and sent him into another bout of sobs.

Pansy and Nott came by to check on him but he waved them away, giving the excuse that he just needed to be alone.

He sulked in his room until the light outside shifted from an incandescent warmth to a wintry dimness as mid-afternoon bled into dusk, wondering just how he was supposed to face Potter at the party.

❆

By the time Draco had pulled himself out of his four-poster bed and joined the others in the Room of Requirement, the party was almost in full-swing. Everyone was scattered across the room with plates of food in their hands, laughing and chattering about. He noticed the Patil twins flirting with Terry Boot and Michael Corner. He also spotted Anthony Goldstein trying (and failing) to make a move on Daphne Greengrass under another mistletoe. One that was not charmed, fortunately for Greengrass.

He didn't let himself look for Potter.

A knot of anxiety twisted in his stomach as he walked over to the large oblong table laden with food, where the looming tree provided partial cover from the rest of the party and where Weasley and Finnegan were stuffing their faces with large dollops of mashed potatoes. Judging by the empty plates beside them, it didn't look like they were on their second _or_ fourth helping.

"Oi, Malfoy," Finnegan said. Draco returned the greeting with a curt nod. Weasley narrowed his eyes at him before grunting a half-hearted greeting of his own.

"Good evening, Draco. Your decorations are quite lovely. Would you like a scrumptious honey stick?" Lovegood appeared out of nowhere, almost startling him. Before he could respond, she slipped a honey-coated cylindrical stick into his hand before smiling brightly at him and scurrying away. Draco sighed, making a mental note to himself that he needed to get used to his cousin's antics.

" _You_ decorated the room?" Finnegan's eyes were wide and his hand was faltering on its way to snatch a drumstick.

Draco held his chin up marginally, a warm sort of pride spreading though his chest. "Clearly." He smirked at them.

Weasley just scowled at him while the other Gryffindor praised him generously. Draco scanned the contents on the table, nodding in appreciation at the mouthwatering meatloaf and flaky biscuits as well as the roast chicken and Cornish pasties.

He idly nipped at his honey stick—which actually didn't taste half-bad—while he loitered around the table in high hopes of being able to avoid Potter for the entire evening. He stayed until Weasley and Finnegan (the bloody pigs) decided they were full and moved on to a crate of Firewhiskey. Vaguely, Draco remembered McGonagall reminding them of a prohibition to alcohol during the party but it seemed like that had been disregarded.

Granger, however, apparently had not been informed of this decision because when she spotted her boyfriend downing a glass of said whiskey, she immediately started scolding him with occasional thumps on his ginger head. Draco cringed. He remembered how that girl had a mean right-hook and he didn't suspect that her head-hitting was any less harsh, by the looks of Weasley's cringing face.

He sipped his pumpkin juice, that Daphne had been kind enough to offer a glass, as he watched the bickering couple, amused.

But then, _fuck_.

Draco knew it was him before he turned around or even said a word, his musky scent stark in Draco's senses as he slowly turned around, feigning apathy.

"Malfoy," Potter said, holding a glass of pumpkin juice of his own.

Draco's eyes slid up to his hair and his mouth twitched.

"Potter," he returned, trying to keep his voice steady. He looked anywhere but those green eyes that he knew would just draw him in and leave him at a loss for words.

"So..." he started, and Draco's stomach dropped. He knew this was coming, but it still sent a wave of dread through his insides.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing," Draco said too quickly to be considered casual. And with a hurried side-step, he averted his eyes from Potter's.

"Why—"

"Nothing, Potter. And to answer your next question, _nothing_ ," He spat, bristling. The tension between them was thick and palpable and Draco reckoned if he were to stick his tongue out, he would be able to taste it in the air.

"I was just _wondering_..." Potter restarted, huffing and taking a step closer to Draco, "if you'd like to go to Hogsmeade with me."

Draco sputtered against his drink, spilling its contents all over the table and his shirt. _What the fuck did he just say?_

" _What_?"

"Hogsmeade," Potter reiterated, his cheeks betraying the beginnings of a blush of his own. "I want to go with you, grab a Butterbeer or something...if you'd like."

Heat suffused Draco's cheeks as he tried to compose himself, his eyes widening and his eyebrows climbing under his fringe in surprise.

"Are you bloody insane?"

Potter muttered something like, "I wish I was", causing Draco to raise an eyebrow. "But...no, I'm not. I'd really like you to accompany me. Please?"

_Oh God. Oh God oh God oh God._

What in Salazar's name was happening?Was Potter actually asking him out on a _date_? Draco opened his mouth to respond but his throat felt too dry. And then, "I... okay."

Potter brightened. "Okay?"

"Okay," Draco mumbled, deterring his gaze once again. He hoped Potter hadn't noticed how he'd practically turned into a tomato, which then Draco realised with a resigned sigh, was damn near impossible.

"Okay," Potter repeated, smiling. He reached out, as though he wanted to grab Draco's hand but then hesitated and retracted it. The gesture absolutely triggered something warm in Draco's chest and he couldn't help himself from breaking into a grin. Potter didn't notice, thank Merlin, and cleared his throat, "Let's go, then."

"Now?"

"Yes, now. Come on!" He started to walk to the exit, placing his glass of juice on an empty table before looking back at Draco with a small smile on his face.

Uncertain, Draco followed, his heart thumping wildly against his chest. He hadn't had a clue what this was all about, what Potter was up to. But he was about to find out.

❆

There had been only a half hour left until the party was planned to begin when he and Hermione had finally finished putting up all the trinkets onto the tree. They had waited until the Padma and Dean, who were in charge of the meals and refreshments, brought all the food and filled the tables with the mouthwatering delicacies.

The awkwardness between him and Hermione hadn't been unpredictable, Harry still shifting uncomfortably with the newly acquired knowledge of his sexual preference and the person he had supposedly fancied for the better half of his years at Hogwarts. Thankfully, Hermione hadn't pressed the issue, seemingly content to rattle on about her their Potions project that they were supposed to begin after Christmas break, but Harry knew she had been doing it on purpose. Harry had thought a lot about Malfoy then, but even so, if he had told the Harry Potter of then that he would ask the blond git out on a date in just a few hours, he would've doubled over in laughter.

But here they were now. Together, just the two of them, at Hogsmeade. And Harry only had his intractable impulses to blame.

Since all the eighth years were at the party and the majority of the other students lounging in their respective common rooms, Hogsmeade embraced a blissful quiet, save for the distant chatter and the occasional crescendo of voices from the conversations between the shopkeepers. Even so, the village still radiated a lively festive energy, what with the giant evergreen tree in the middle of the path. It was decorated with sparkling baubles of different hues and a bunch of other Christmas ornaments and almost every shop along the path had hung up colourful lambent lights. The entire village overflowed with warmth and festivity of it all built up to Christmas which was in two days.

Harry couldn't help but feel a bit giddy, despite the nervousness of this supposed "date" between him and Malfoy that curdled in his stomach.

Is this what they meant by the "butterflies"?

Bugger.

Beside him, Malfoy looked as anxious as he felt, stiffening whenever the length of their arms brushed against each other and worrying his bottom lip with his front teeth.

"So..." Harry rasped. He cleared his throat. "Honeydukes, first? I feel like I could use some sweets." He glanced up at the blond above his glasses, awaiting an answer.

Malfoy looked back at him sideways and narrowed his eyes as though Harry's suggestion was less than mediocre. But his eyes betrayed a hint of eagerness and his mouth twitched, and having observed the blond for almost sixth years, Harry was certain that Malfoy had more than a bit of a sweet tooth. "Whatever, Potter," he said, then winced as though that wasn't what he meant to say.

"What? Scared, Malfoy?" Harry asked, his question laced with the familiar hint of a challenge.

And just like that, the ice broke, and Malfoy grinned at him, his shoulders shaking with a scoff and some amused laughter. And then, "You wish."

Harry grinned back, bumping his shoulder to Malfoy's playfully. He nudged Harry back, still looking considerably shy and uncertain as he ducked his head in embarrassment, his blond locks flopping into his eyes. Harry didn't even bother dismissing the thought that Malfoy looked absolutely endearing.

Honeydukes was flooding with the warm smell of chocolate and caramel. Although Harry had been to the sweetshop more than a dozen times, he still found himself in awe of the shelves filled with the most mouthwatering sweets imaginable. When he and Draco entered the shop, Mrs Flume, Ambrosius's wife, quickly rushed to him, eyes twinkling and smile bright.

"Harry! It's so nice to see you here!" She pulled him into a bone-crushing hug that vaguely reminded him of being back at the Weasleys where Molly had done a similar deed.

"Thanks, Mrs Flume," he managed, hugging her back. Beside him, he swore he heard Malfoy choking on a laugh.

Only then did the old lady seemed to notice that Harry had company, and she cleared her throat when she realised the person was an ex-Death Eater.

"Well, have a look around then," she said, managing a smile, albeit one that wasn't as radiant as before. "Let me know if you need my assistance."

"Sure thing," Harry replied and they meandered through the shop, eyeing the myriad of various jars filled with succulent-looking candy. Harry couldn't help but notice Malfoy practically leering at the sweets on the shelves, his demeanor resembling that of an enthusiastic little kid. It made something in Harry's chest flutter a little.

At one point, the two of them ended up with their backs to each other as they browsed through the shelves of confectioneries, with Harry ogling at some Peppermint Imps and Malfoy at a jar of sugar-spun quills.

Harry stepped back to gaze higher at the same time Malfoy did, and their backs bumped together, causing Harry to realise that both of them were emitting an amount of heat that was much higher than normal. It made Harry jump back and turn around.

Malfoy did the same.

The air changed around them, permeating with something thick and heated. Malfoy stared at him under his long pale lashes, and a wave of déjà vu hit Harry, his mind supplying him with the events that had unfolded just a few hours ago. He slipped his tongue out to swipe at his bottom lip. Something surged in his abdomen when he saw Malfoy's eyes track the movement with an undecipherable intensity.

They were so close, and Harry felt his heart speeding up to match the rate of desire he was quickly accumulating for the boy in front of him.

When had Malfoy become so gorgeous? Suddenly, Harry started to notice all the things that he had already perceived before but with a new sense of longing.

The mole on the side of his nose bridge.

The way his pale lashes curled at the ends and fanned over the sharp edges of his cheekbones.

His broad shoulders that slumped infinitesimally to accommodate their one-inch height difference.

Breaths mingling, Harry's hands clenched at his sides to resist the urge to _touch_. Everything felt hot and consuming. He wanted to taste it. Then he felt himself lean in impulsively, his eyelids fluttering closed and—

"Harry Potter!"

They jumped back simultaneously, flustered and still panting. Harry looked down the aisle to see Ambrosius Flume grinning toothily at him.

"It's good to see you, my boy!" He boomed, walking toward him and pulling him into yet another tight hug. Harry chuckled sheepishly and hugged back awkwardly.

"It's good to see you too, Mr Flume."

The elderly man clapped him on the back before letting him go. "Anything you want here, Harry. On the house!"

"Oh—er. That's really not necessary, Mr Flume," Harry said gracelessly.

"Please, I'd like to repay you." His breath smelled of chocolate. "And er—you can grab some for your...friend as well." He finished, glancing furtively at Malfoy before leaving Harry and him alone once again.

Harry looked at his ratty boots awkwardly, trying to hide the colour in his cheeks. "Sorry about that."

When he glanced up, Malfoy just looked amused. "Well, we can't just let this generous discount go, now can we, oh Saviour of the Wizarding World?" Then he looked around the aisle and rubbed his chin as though in thought. "I'm allowing myself three boxes of chocolate frogs."

Harry chuckled. "Okay, Malfoy."

They left the sweet shop with an armful of delicious-looking candy. Much more than they could finish right then. Harry figured he would save more than half of his batch for Ron. Malfoy, true to his word, had grabbed three boxes of Chocolate Frogs, and the pair found themselves a bench on the side of the path to settle in.

"Who'd you get?" Harry asked, as soon as the Slytherin started opening his first box.

"Can't you wait a minute? Bloody impatient Gryffindors," he muttered, fumbling with the box because of his thick wool gloves. He finally resorted to taking them off and shoving them into one of his many coat pockets. Harry eyed Malfoy's pale hands and elegant fingers as they carefully opened the hexagonal box, like chocolate deserved to be respected. Which it did.

As soon as the lid was removed, a familiar brown frog leapt out of the box. Harry was quick to catch it before it hopped away, his agile Quidditch reflexes shining through.

Malfoy just smirked at him before taking out the card. He froze.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"What? Who'd you get?" Harry asked again, craning his head to see the picture on the card. He could admit, he was more than surprised to see his own bespectacled face staring back at him. At that, he couldn't help bursting into a bout of uncontrollable laughter.

"Oh sod off, Potter," he heard Malfoy say but when he looked up at him through his crinkling eyes, he was smiling.

"I can't believe I'm on the cards," he wheezed, through a fit of giggles. "And I can't believe _you_ got me!"

"I can. What'd you expect? You're the _Chosen One_ , for Salazar's sake. They must have made millions of these." Malfoy twirled the card around his hand and smoothed out the edges. Harry couldn't be sure but he thought he noticed the Slytherin putting a thumb to card-Harry's cheek.

Harry finally calmed down, his heartbeat slowing as he caught his breath. "Are you going to open the other two?"

They shared the Chocolate Frog before opening the second box.

"This time, I'd better get someone worth spending a once-in-a-lifetime discount for."

Maybe it was nothing but irony, because Malfoy got Harry again. And then again.

"Honestly," Malfoy was muttering as they walked along the path to The Three Broomsticks, where they'd agreed to have some Butterbeer before heading back to the party. Harry was laughing sheepishly beside him.

When the pair entered The Three Broomsticks, they were immediately enveloped by a warm and inviting smell of fish-and-chips and the sharp tang of Firewhiskey. The pub was filled up sizably, the majority of its occupants being middle-aged wizards from the village enjoying their usual evening round of drinks, their boisterous laughter and loud voices filling up the small space.

Harry didn't mind. In fact, he was glad everyone was too distracted to notice the "Saviour" and an ex-Death Eater walking in together. Malfoy seemed to be thinking the same thing, because he followed Harry without any protests as he weaved through the tables and chairs until they found an untenanted one in the far corner of the pub.

Rosmerta came to pick up their order soon after. If she was surprised by Harry's companion, she didn't show it. Instead, she greeted the both of them warmly, wishing them a happy Christmas, and took up Malfoy and Harry's drinks: two pints of Butterbeer.

"You did a great job with the decorations," Harry said, earning a blush from Malfoy.

"Yes, well," He replied, ducking his head. "I had some help."

"From Hermione?"

Malfoy looked surprised by Harry's retort, and then narrowed his eyes, ever the suspicious one. "Yes...how'd you know?"

Harry just shrugged, smirking a bit. "I asked."

Malfoy pursed his lips, as though unsatisfied with his answer, but didn't press further. They sat in silence until their orders arrived. Malfoy took a sip of his drink first.

"Are you going back for Christmas break?" Harry asked, cringing internally at his lame attempt at small talk.

Surprisingly, Malfoy shook his head. "No."

"Why not?"

The last time Harry had seen Narcissa Malfoy was at their trials. Harry's testament had landed her only five years of house arrest and prohibition from using magic. Lucius Malfoy, however, was not so fortunate and was shipped directly to Azkaban, sentenced for life, to account for his numerous crimes.

Harry knew Voldemort had used the Manor for temporary residency, which would no doubt inflict a plethora of unpleasant and gruesome memories, but he'd figured Malfoy would still want to see his mother.

"I-I can't," he stammered, letting out a shaky breath.

Harry just nodded, not knowing what to say without eliciting painful remembrances from the war or triggering six-year-old animosities. He knew what it was like to have Voldemort lurking in every nook and cranny of his thoughts. He still woke up swathed in sweat from nightmares plagued with his slippery hissing voice. He imagined it would be a similar sensation for Malfoy, who had practically _lived_ with the inhumane supremacist.

"It's okay." Harry scooted his leg towards Malfoy's under the table and touched his ankle to his, in a soothing manner. His foot felt warm and nice even through their thick boots, and he didn't jerk away. Neither did Harry.

Harry didn't want to scare Malfoy away with his less-than-heterosexual actions but being the Gryffindor he was, he found himself at a difficulty to fight the impulse. But if what Hermione said was true, if Malfoy really liked him...

He shook the thought away. He couldn't assume that. He couldn't let his hopes up. That was entirely too self-destructive. Right?

They were just two blokes enjoying a pint of Butterbeer and catching up with their recent happenings.

Oh, who was Harry kidding? This was _Malfoy_. What the hell were they supposed to catch up on? If he felt indebted to Harry for saving his life? How he was feeling about his father rotting away in Azkaban? Oh and let's not forget the fact that they were practically enemies before a nose-less megalomaniac decided to wreak havoc in the Wizarding World.

Merlin's sagging tits.

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but then the Slytherin abruptly took his tankard and started chugging his Butterbeer. Eyes widening, Harry watched his throat move as he drank, the words diminishing on his tongue, and he found himself wanting to press his face there, in the warm curve where Malfoy's neck met his shoulder. When he set the now half-drained pint down on the table, his lips were wet, shining in the pub light. Harry eyed the tiny droplet of foam that clung to his bottom lip.

Acting on impulse, unsurprisingly, his Gryffindor traits getting the better of him, Harry reached out and cupped Malfoy's jaw in his hand, then swiped his thumb across the droplet. Malfoy's lips parted, his eyes wide and pupils dilating, as Harry's thumb lingered for a second longer. Two.

Then someone broke into a hearty laugh beside them, causing Harry to retract his hand.

Harry cleared his throat, but when he spoke, his voice was still hoarse. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry I didn't take your hand."

Malfoy blinked, and then coughed, almost choking on his Butterbeer, eyes widening at Harry. "What do you mean?"

Harry shrugged, feigning nonchalance but he was blushing. "I'm sorry I turned down your hand in friendship...although I wouldn't have changed what I did under the same circumstances. I'm still sorry."

Malfoy huffed in disbelief. "Are you sure the scar is the only thing the Dar—Voldemort did to your head, Potter?"

Harry tilted his head while Malfoy blew out another breath.

"What I mean is, who could blame you when some blond git was being a right areshole to you?"

Harry blinked, before erupting into a full-blown grin. "You're calling yourself a git?"

"No...well, yes, but not me now. The eleven-year-old me. The stupid child."

"You weren't stupid," Harry said, surprising himself. "Annoying, yes. But not stupid."

Malfoy raised a pale brow, his lips twitching with something akin to amusement. "Yes, well," he uttered, "I was stupid enough to ruin my one chance at befriending the Chosen One, so."

Harry felt something warm settle in his chest. It made him smile and then bite his lip from spreading into a grin.

"You know, the Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin," he said before he could stop himself.

This time, Malfoy _did_ choke. "What? What happened then?"

"I told it not to."

Malfoy blinked. "You're having me on."

"No, I swear. It said I'd do well in Slytherin."

"And yet you ended up in Gryffindor?" Malfoy said, frowning. "Why?"

Harry sighed, partly dreading what he was about to admit. "I heard that Slytherin was were the dark wizards went, which was stupid really, but actually...it was mostly because of you. I...er. I didn't want to be in the same house as you."

Malfoy's jaw dropped. "Honestly?"

Harry nodded, sheepish. "You _were_ kind of a git."

The other boy huffed and crossed his arms defensively. "Alright, fine. No need to rub it in." Then he went silent for a minute before letting out a self-deprecating laugh. "I just can't believe that we might have ended up house mates, or friends even, if it weren't for how I treated you that day and offered my friendship. The irony is profound."

Harry just shook his head as a small smile formed on his lips, strangely sympathetic for that young boy whose only mistake was to trust his parents' word.

"You know," Harry said, an idea that might distract Malfoy out of his mood coming to mind, "maybe it's best what happened. I don't think I would've liked it in Slytherin anyway, what with all the weird underwater windows and the aquatic creatures swimming about and looking in when you least expect it."

Harry shivered at the memory of how he had been there in the first place: him and Ron Polyjuiced into Goyle and Crabbe. He was surprised when a tinge of nostalgia tainted the recollection as well.

"It wasn't all that bad," Malfoy replied, understandably feeling defensive of his house. _Right on cue. And..._ "Wait a minute. How do _you_ know what the Slytherin common room looks like?" ... _Bingo_.

Harry couldn't help but giggle. Who knew he could do that anyway? _Giggling_.

"A funny story, actually. Are you sure you want to know?"

The other boy narrowed his eyes, his demeanor immediately stiffening with both curiosity and suspicion. "Yes. Who the hell let you in?"

At that, Harry had to put in a considerable amount of effort to keep from exploding into laughter. "You, actually."

" _Me_?"

"Yes, you," Harry replied in between wheezes. The look on Malfoy's face was absolutely priceless. "We were in second year. Ron and I were Polyjuiced into Crabbe and Goyle in an attempt to spy on the suspected _Heir of Slytherin_." He said the last bit in a mock mysterious voice.

"You've got to be shitting me." Malfoy looked utterly scandalized, which sent Harry into another bout of laughter.

"No, I promise. We tricked them with chocolate cakes."

Malfoy groaned loudly and then put his face in his hands. "Why am I not surprised? The sodding oafs."

Then his expression turned somber upon remembering one of his friends' tragic fate. A fate that would have also been his if it weren't for Harry. Harry immediately felt a heavy sense of grief for Crabbe's death and somewhat upset at himself for bringing it up, knowing Malfoy would have taken his death hard. But the Slytherin seemed like he wasn't keen on dwelling on the matter, for he broke into a teasing sneer right after.

"So, you Polyjuiced yourself into my friend to spy on me."

Harry grinned at him, relieved. "Pretty much."

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you had a crush on me." He smirked at Harry.

"What— _Merlin_. Fucking wanker," Harry laughed, blushing, and kicked Malfoy's foot lightly under the table. He didn't bother to deny the asseveration.

"Hey!" Malfoy grumbled, but he was smiling, his eyes shining with mirth and his ears red-tipped. He bumped Harry's foot back with his own before reaching into his coat to take out his wand. Harry noticed he was using a sleeker wand, and he eyed it as Malfoy cast a warming charm onto his hands. The dark wood wasn't as intricately carved as his Hawthorn wand and where the latter had patterned wooden notches, the former sported a shiny silver handle. His thorough knowledge of Malfoy's old wand came from having spent numerous nights holding and perusing it, tracing over the notches in the handle with vigilant delicacy. Harry appreciated the warm tingle of magic that flooded into his fingertips. Holding someone else's wand just felt _intimate_ , and a pang of sadness quivered inside him when he remembered that it was his Christmas present for Malfoy and that he would now have to let that go.

Then Malfoy's grey eyes flicked up to Harry, catching him red-handed in his scrutiny. Harry blushed and cleared his throat.

"Your wand is new," he said, awkwardly.

"An astute observation."

Harry wanted to roll his eyes at that. Instead, he said, "It's nice." He let himself stare as Malfoy tucked it back into his coat.

"Thank you," he replied. And then, softer, "It's my mother's."

 _Of course_ , Harry thought, feeling contented at the knowledge that the Ministry had allowed him to use his mother's wand after it had been confiscated from her.

But then, his grey eyes darkening, "I...I'm sorry."

Harry's eyes widened at the sudden apology and the sincerity of it. It made his heart tingle with warmth. "Malfoy..."

He didn't elaborate on what he was apologising for, but he didn't have to. He knew Harry knew fully well what for.

"I know it's much too late for that," he continued, "but I'm still sorry."

"Don't, Malfoy. If we start on apologies, we'll be here all night," Harry said softly, his mind wandering to an apology of his own, one that involved a bathroom and a vicious spell.

Thankfully, Malfoy seemed to agree, nodding his head once before reaching for his tankard again. They sipped their Butterbeers in a comfortable silence after that, the air around them somber but earnest. Malfoy's company felt nicer than Harry cared to admit. The furtive glances and small smiles somehow served to bring up a silent exchange of apologies and forgiveness, and Harry didn't mind one bit.

When they finally left the pub, it was snowing.

The frostiness scrubbed Harry's cheeks and when he looked up Malfoy, he could see that his pale cheeks reddening with the cold as well.

Their boots sank into the inch-deep snow and Harry brightened with an idea. He crouched and balled the snow into his hand. Malfoy, oblivious to Harry's new incentive, continued walking and thereby exposing his back willingly.

Without ambivalence, Harry hurled the snowball at the unsuspecting Slytherin. It hit its target with a satisfying crack as it fell apart against Malfoy's coat and smeared its white remnants on it. Malfoy yelped in surprise, turning around so fast that Harry's laugh diminished in his throat. His grey eyes were filled with disbelief and then bubbling into an unfamiliar mirth.

And then he was crouching too, his bare hands balling his own snowballs. "You're going to pay for that one, Potter," he laughed and Harry laughed along with him.

It escalated quickly, like all things fun and forbidden, and they were just two boys caught up in a snowball fight, ducking and running around with snow in their hair and flushes in their cheeks.

Somewhere within the fight, Harry's hands end up on Malfoy's face, cold and numb, rubbing his face with the stinging snow.

"Ow! Fucking _bastard_ ," Malfoy screeched, jerking away from the icy tickle, and reaching up to press his own palms against Harry's face.

"Oh _fuck_!"

Without thinking, Harry wrestled Malfoy to the ground, his chest heaving with laughter and delight. It pressed against Malfoy's as they tumbled across the snow together, and it was like everything in their world had been distilled into this moment.

Harry eventually managed to get on top of Malfoy, pressing him down chest against chest as he tried to get a hold of his flailing arms. But Malfoy reached up to tickle Harry in the ribs and as Harry tried to fight off his hands, his wrists are suddenly grasped by Malfoy's strong hands and pulled over his head.

There was nothing Harry could do when Malfoy wrapped his long legs around Harry's waist and rolled them over, straddling him securely and holding his hands against the snow-covered ground above Harry's head.

They were both panting heavily, the adrenaline of their snowball fight still raging in their blood circulation but with a hint of something _more_ that made them both still. Harry's laughter died down slowly as he found himself looking into bright silvery eyes. The energy transformed around them, like it did just about an hour ago, and then the world stopped in its tracks as Harry drowned in Malfoy's heated gaze.

Heart beating wildly, Harry succumbed to his newfound desire and lifted his head up to brush his lips against Malfoy's.

They're cool and tender, just like Harry had anticipated, and they taste sweet like the Butterbeer they just drank and so soft to the touch that Harry never wanted to let go. Malfoy didn't pull back, but he didn't respond either and Harry reluctantly lowered his head, holding his breath as he searched his eyes. They were deep with emotion, pupils dilated and lust-blown, and Harry would still feel his hot breath against his lips as he tried to decipher what the other boy was thinking.

Then, throwing caution to the wind, he leaned in and closed the distance between their lips for a second time.

This time, Malfoy let out a sound that sounded something like a whimper, before responding, parting his lips and kissing Harry with a fervent passion that made his knees wobble.

It was the most exquisite thing ever—to kiss Draco Malfoy. Harry knew he couldn't get enough of it as he strained his neck to move as close to Malfoy as humanly possible. Harry wormed his wrists out of Malfoy's grip to reach up into his blond locks, threading them through his fingers and steadying him. They were every bit soft and silky as he imagined and the feel of them against his skin sent Harry into another bout of _want_.

"Draco..." he breathed. Malfoy's given name felt like honey on his tongue, sweet and delicious. He wanted to keep saying it until the end of time.

Harry felt the curve of his smile against his mouth. He slipped his tongue out to lick it.

Then Malfoy leaned in to nuzzle against Harry's neck, humming contently into his skin all the while licking and nibbling it. Harry moaned softly, vaguely realising that they were still in the middle of the path at Hogsmeade where anyone who was passing by could see them. But then Malfoy— _Draco_ —lifted his head to look at Harry bashfully with his bottom lip under his front teeth and an adorable blush painting his cheeks and Harry lost all common sense.

 _Draco_.

He hadn't realised he had said it out loud until Draco bumped his nose with his. "Say it again," he murmured and touched their foreheads together.

Harry let out a soft sigh. "Draco. Draco, Draco, Draco—"

Draco cut him off with another searing kiss, taking Harry's cool lips against his soft ones. Nothing else could possibly feel this good. Why haven't they done this before? Why in Godric's name did they have to waste a single day fighting when they could have been doing this instead?

When they pulled away after a while, Harry looked up at the boy on top of him, his grey eyes complementing his white-blond locks and the snowy scenery all around him. Draco Malfoy looked like something out of a fairy tale, and Harry found himself comparing him to an ice prince.

And then, lips a hairsbreadth apart, "Say mine."

"Mmm?" Draco leaned in and kissed him again, softly.

"Say my name."

"Potter..."

"You _know_ that's not what I mean, you prick."

A chuckle.

"Potter...Harry."

"Say it again."

"Harry."

❆

Draco walked alongside Harry with his hand entwined in his, radiating a tingly sort of warmth that filled his chest with a soft emotion he couldn't place.

When he glanced sideways at the dark-haired boy, he was already looking at Draco above his glasses, his green eyes smouldering and vibrant. It made Draco want to lock them in a room and throw him onto a bed.

"What?" Draco said, blushing and ducking his head.

"What, what?"

" _What_?"

Potter grinned that lopsided grin of his and squeezed his hand. "You're ridiculous."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Oh, _I'm_ ridiculous?"

"Yes, you dolt."

"You drive me spare," Draco retorted, pulling his signature drawl. Harry raised an eyebrow, laughing as he bumped his shoulder.

Upon returning to the party, Draco was relieved that find that everybody was already preoccupied with their respective partners, paired off and getting cozy in the many alcoves that Draco had already discovered when he had been cooped up in the room, decorating.

When Draco looked at Harry, his cheeks were beginning to tint red. Draco smirked.

"Scared, Potter?"

He pulled a scandalized face at Draco before replying, "You wish."

And then, as though to solidify his statement, he pulled their intertwined hands up to his face and pressed a soft kiss on the back of Draco's hand. It sent a jolt of electricity up Draco's arm, making him wonder how it could be possible that there were that many nerve endings all in one place.

Harry kept his green (so green) eyes on Draco's reaction as he did, letting the tip of his tongue slip out to wet the skin there. Draco inhaled sharply.

"Fuck, Harry," he breathed, closing his eyes. How could that one action light up so many things inside of him? Merlin, he felt like someone cast a million Lumos' on him.

Somewhere, in a corner of the room, someone hollered. "Harry and Malfoy are back!"

Draco scanned the oblong space and noticed Weasley and Granger staring at them wide-eyed from their seat in the armchair near the fire, Pansy and Nott continuing to snog each other beside a table of refreshments, and Lovegood and the girl Weasley gazing curiously at them. Suddenly, he felt a spike of self-consciousness about his and Harry's entwined hands, not because he was ashamed of Harry, but because he was of _himself_.

He didn't deserve Harry, not after everything.

But the sparkling lights adorning the tree and the irrefutable warmth from the fireplace and the numerous warming charms reminded him that this was _Christmas_ , and damn it all if he wasn't going to spend it gratefully with the one he loved.

"Harry, we were wondering where you'd gone," Granger sighed, as she and Weasley walked over to them. Draco was surprised when she took one look at their hands, her mouth twitching as her brown eyes filled with a knowing look directed at Harry.

Weasley, on the other hand, was a different story.

His eyes were wide and his mouth was open with disbelief, before he started to speak, "What the _bloody_ —"

He yelped as Granger elbowed him sharply in the ribs. Beside Draco, Harry disguised a laugh with a cough.

" _'Mione_!"

"Honestly," he heard her hiss, before pulling him away from Draco and Harry and back to their armchair.

"Well, I'll say!" Finnegan hollered from across the room, raising a glass of something that looked suspiciously like Firewhiskey. "To Harry and Draco!"

"To Harry and Draco!" Everyone, except Weasley who was still recovering from shock, repeated and those who still had Firewhiskey in their glasses raised them.

Draco felt another onslaught of heat creeping up his neck as he bit his lip sheepishly, still absolutely overwhelmed with everything that had just unraveled. Harry's hand in his still felt like a dream.

He glanced at him to see that Harry was already smiling at him, a smattering of pink claiming across his own cheeks.

"Oh, don't look so surprised, Ron!" He heard the girl Weasley say to her brother. "We all expected it!"

"We _did_?" He heard him reply incredulously, and Draco had to swallow a snort.

And then, "Well, what are we waiting for? Everyone's here, aren't they? Let's open our presents!" Finnegan said. This brightened everyone right up and the room immediately broke into an enthusiastic chatter as everyone got up from their respective areas and gathered around the Christmas tree.

Draco's heart jumped with anxiety when he realised he didn't get a present for Harry.

Just then, Harry gave his hand a reassuring squeeze as though sensing his dismay. Draco's shoulders turned lax at that and he managed a small smile at the dark-haired boy before joining the others under the tree. The wide area sported a cluster of presents of various shapes and sizes, all beautifully wrapped in different colours and patterns, and Draco found himself admiring the house crests imprinted on a number of the gifts. They sat in a circle, Harry's hand never leaving his all the while everyone settled in and started picking out their presents. The pair made themselves comfortable under the tree, Harry splaying his legs across the warm carpet while Draco crossed his, both of them childishly eager to open their gifts.

The shock of Harry and Draco together died down much quicker than Draco had expected. If he was being honesty, he had anticipated more shit to come his way, but so far, the only negativity he had received thus far was the suspicious glares that was being thrown at him from none other than Weasley.

Padma Patil squealed in delight as she fished out a new pair of expensive-looking purple boots from her box before thanking her sister, Parvati, with a giant hug, who was gushing under the affection. Draco found himself admiring at the boots as well and vaguely a thought that Parvati had good taste drifted across his mind. Across from him, Dean Thomas intently watched Finnegan unwrapped a square red box with an eager and amused look on his face. As soon as he removed the lid, the box exploded in a flurry of black smoke, completely dappling its contents onto Finnegan's face which looked like it had been smeared with charcoal. Everyone guffawed as Finnegan groaned, shoving Thomas while he roared with laughter. "You're a right tosser, Thomas, you! I should have expected this."

Draco watched as Weasley opened his present and pulled out a rather corny jumper with a huge 'R' on the front. He smirked when he groaned. "I thought I told Mum I wanted a red one!"

Beside him, Granger pulled out a jumper of her own. Which was an attractive crimson with an 'H' imprinted on it.

"Bollocks," Weasley grunted. Harry chuckled at his friends. The rest of their classmates caught up in the conversation as they continued opening their presents with joyous delight.

Eventually, their intertwined hands reluctantly slipped away from each other to take up the task of opening their own presents.

There was only a small pile of presents left, many of them having been picked out by their respective recipients. Draco didn't need to check the labels to know that they were for him and Harry, seeing that all of them were either in Slytherin green or Gryffindor red and that they were the last to scour the heap. The red ones were substantially greater in amount, Harry being the receiver of many gifts from almost all the eighth years while Draco's were only from his friends in Slytherin house.

Harry's first present was another Weasley jumper, which was almost identical to Granger's except the 'H' was in yellow while Granger's had been in green. Draco opened his gifts, smiling at Zabini’s gift—a verdant tie that he remembered pointing out to him a lifetime ago before the war, Pansy’s—an expensive bottle of cologne like she did every year, Nott’s—a Falmouth Falcons’ jumper, and Goyle’s—a mug with a snake hand drawn on it. He mouthed ‘Thank you’s to them, pleased that they were also delighted with what he had gotten them.

And then, near his ear, "I—uh. I got something for you," Harry murmured and reached into his coat pocket. Draco's heart leapt in surprise.

"Oh?" He asked casually, he was eagerly anticipating what Harry could have possibly brought him. He gave himself a mental note to Owl Harry a present on the actual Christmas day, already beginning to agonise over what to give him.

"I didn't wrap it because it turns out I'm shit at that but—er. Here," he babbled, before slipping a familiar piece of wood into Draco's hand.

His Hawthorn wand felt tingly to the touch, the magic spreading across his palm with a comforting warmth as though embracing its rightful owner. Draco awed at it, joy, gratitude, and love for the boy before him—the emotions entangling with each other.

"They wanted to lock it away in a museum," Harry was saying, but Draco was too caught up with his feelings to comprehend anything. "—that defeated Voldemort but I-I couldn't. It's yours and I just—"

"Thank you," he blurted out, before he could stop himself for being such a sentimental sap. He blushed not for the first or the ninth time that day and looked at Harry. "Really. Thank you."

"I'm just returning what's yours."

Draco rolled his eyes at that. "You just can't help yourself from being so _noble_ all the time, can you?"

Harry chuckled. "You like me for it." Then the fucking _prat_ winked at Draco.

"Oh, stuff it," he muttered, feeling his cheeks heat anew.

But then, "Draco...look up."

Draco's brows furrowed in confusion before tilting his head up to look at what Harry had been gesturing at. His jaw dropped when he saw a familiar looking mistletoe floating on top of the two of them. _His_ mistletoe. He looked at Harry, whose forehead was creased with concentration as he glanced up at the plant, then back at Draco. And Draco had to suck in a ragged breath because Harry was performing _wandless magic_. Sweet Salazar, could this boy get any hotter?

"I guess we have to kiss now," Harry said, his voice low. All their classmates exploded into cheers and hollers around them but Draco barely registered the commotion, for he was completely drowning in Harry's green eyes that were vibrant and practically iridescent as he stared at Draco's mouth with something like _want_.

Draco wanted to ask, _Now? Here? In front of everyone?_

But then he found he couldn't care less before leaning in and closing the gap between their lips.

Harry accepted his kiss with a smile and Draco wondered when things had turned out to be so perfect.


End file.
